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When Dr. Burton came, he grudgingly praised the work Eamon had done on my wound, but he suggested I stay in bed for a week or two. Mercifully, that advice excused me from Anika Van Brunt's funeral, and from seeing anyone I did not wish to encounter. Eamon could not come every day, but he visited thrice a week, according to our plan—slowly working his way into my family. His gruff, logical way of talking endeared him to my father, while his looks and training quickly gained him my mother's favor. My parents began to realize almost at once that his interest in me went beyond my physical health; and though they did not proclaim themselves in favor of his attention, they did not forbid it either.

Three weeks after my return home, I was sitting primly under the elm tree with Eamon while he read to me fromA Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus. This time, it was the lines from Doctor Faustus that seemed to strip my heart naked as he read.

"Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!

Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.

Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,

And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee,

Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sack'd;

And I will combat with weak Menelaus,

And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;

Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,

And then return to Helen for a kiss.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air

Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;

Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter—"

I laid my hand across the pages so Eamon was forced to stop reading. "Eamon, it is time."

"Time?" He lifted his dark eyes to mine.

"Time for you to ask for my hand in marriage. You should request my father's blessing first."

He stared down at the book, where my fingers splayed over the page, and he ran one broad fingertip up the slim central bone of my hand, all the way to my wrist. "Katrina, I do not know how to tell you this—but I think perhaps our original plan was flawed."

My stomach dropped with a sickening jerk, and I snatched my fingers away. "What do you mean?"

"I cannot ask for your hand in marriage."

This was not happening. Could not be happening. "But—you said—you and I—"

"As I recall it, you have already proposed marriage tome." His mouth inched up at one side. "And I have not yet answered your proposal."

I snatched the book from his hands and struck the side of his head with it. "You cruel fiend. You absolute monster! I thought you were serious."

"But I am!" He stole the book back, tossed it aside, and captured my hands. "I owe you an answer, Katrina—but first, do you realize what marriage to me would mean? I am dullahan. I am vulnerable to anyone who might discover my secret and bind me for evil work. And our children—if we should have any—would also be dullahan, because the curse passes to the children even when human blood is introduced. Our children would carry that dreadful secret from the moment of their birth. Do you understand how the secrecy will complicate your life? Are you sure you are ready for this burden?"

I extricated one of my hands and laid my palm against his face. "I am ready. I have had weeks to think it over, and I might have a solution."

He drew away warily. "I am not going to like it, am I?"

"Do you know the ritual for binding a dullahan to a human master?"

"I do."

"Then you'll do it with me. I will be your Ceannaire, your safeguard. As long as I live, no one will be able to command you to do murder again. I can do the same for any children we may have. I will be their shield, and yours."